Page 59 of The Untamed Heart

Hawkney strode to the door and snatched it open just as Howard appeared with the tea tray.

“Never mind the tea, we need horses. At once, Howard!”

“Wait, I want my tea,” Lucius exclaimed, tugging the tray from Howard’s grasp and setting it down on the desk as the butler ran off in a most undignified fashion.

“Lucius, we need to go,” Sherry said impatiently.

“They’ve not saddled the horses yet,” Lucius said, with a mouthful of Ratafia biscuit. “We have at least six minutes before they’re ready.”

“A fair point,” Sherry agreed, whose stomach was protesting their early start too, and he took a macaron for himself.

Seagull Heights, Little Valentine, East Sussex, 30th September 1816

Eustacia walked to the window of her studio and looked down into the garden below. Marcus was kneeling beside one of the freshly turned beds, planting out more of the little seedlings Hawkney’s gardener had sent over. It seemed the fellow had been so delighted by Mrs Wainwright’s apple butter he’d proposed another exchange.

Next spring the garden would be full of produce. But would Marcus still be here?

What would they do without him? Neil was eager to learn, but he didn’t have the skills yet. Sebastian hadn’t the slightest interest in the garden, and she… well, she must paint, though Eustacia knew she would spend plenty of time in the garden. For one thing, she would never be able to bear seeing all his work ruined, but it would also be the only place where she might feel close to him, once he was gone.

Her heart clenched, and a sense of impatience, of time slipping through her fingers, made her pace the studio, but what could she do?

She could not get to her knees and beg him to stay. Such a scene would disgust him.

He wants you.

Hadn’t she seen the desire in his eyes? But desire wasn’t love, it wasn’t a reason to stay. Only a reason to take.

Her heart quickened, her pulse thrumming under her skin as she considered using that desire to bind him to her. She gave a bitter laugh and shook her head, dismissing the notion at once. As if she would do such a thing to him. He would marry her, of course, and never trust her again.

There was nothing she could do, she realised. If he cared for her, he would tell her so. If he did not… he would leave.

Her throat grew tight, and she swallowed past the knot of misery there, telling herself not to be such a wet goose. Marcus was here now, and whilst she always left him alone in the garden, there was no reason she ought not pop down for a minute or two. Just for a chat. There was no harm in that, after all.

None whatsoever.

Seagull Heights, Little Valentine, East Sussex, 30th September 1816

Marcus stood with a groan, working his fist into the small of his back. How had his grandfather worked such long days until such an age? The old boy must have been fitter than he was.

He’d never been on the receiving end of a bullet, though, Marcus allowed, and he felt a little better at his own lack of endurance. Compared to how he’d felt a few short weeks ago, he was making great strides.

Don’t run before you can walk, you stubborn man.

He smiled, hearing Eustacia’s voice in his ear, and glanced up at the terrace outside her studio. He’d hoped she might come out again and wave at him, as she had done yesterday. She had better things to do, no doubt, than bolster the ego of the cantankerous old soldier she’d been commissioned to paint.

He might persuade her to come out before the bell rang, though, for he had a surprise he knew she would love. Imagining how happy she might look when he showed her what he’d found made his spirits lighten, and he shook his head at his own foolishness.

Sighing, he bent to pull out a weed and tossed it in the basket beside him.

“How splendid it looks. Truly, you have worked a miracle here.”

His heart leapt in response, thudding at double time at the sound of her voice.

He turned with a smile, too delighted to moderate the warmth of his expression. “Eustacia,” he said, aware too late of the tenor of his voice.

“Good morning, Marcus,” she said softly. She stood a few feet from him, holding his gaze, a soft pink blush touched her cheeks, delicate as a ripe peach.

Marcus just drank in the sight of her, knowing the moment stretched on too long, tipping into awkwardness, but he did not know how to stop it, how to stop the yearning that had opened up in his chest. How had he never noticed how empty his life was, how devoid of anything that mattered to him? How had he lived this long and been this unhappy and never known the reason why?